


Blood Magic 101: Don't just blindly agree to this sort of thing.

by Calleo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Blood Magic, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Other, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleo/pseuds/Calleo
Summary: A long series that started in 2018 and is still ongoing; hopefully, I remember to update it here when it needs it.
Relationships: Gellert Grindelwald/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Why would you bother thinking anything through?

**Author's Note:**

> This was a set of collaborative threads that have been cleaned up into one big thing that I add to as necessary. Grindelwald's writer can be found at: absintheabsence.tumblr.com

All that it was _supposed_ to do was keep Calleo from weaseling out of a verbal agreement as, if there are loopholes or semantics that allow loopholes, chances are high Calleo would find and exploit them.

The discussion they'd had leading to it amounted to, “I get that you think you need to play the part of some sort of deservedly suffering martyr but that’s kind of inconvenient for me. If you’re in a consistent and considerable amount of physical pain, it’s going to affect your mental well being, and you’re not going to be nearly as effective in a duel.”

Calleo’s reasoning was at least a good 50% self serving as he knew damn well he could learn a whole hell of a lot from Grindelwald in duel situations and, if there were underlying factors that would affect Grindelwald’s performance, it’d lessen what Calleo would be able to learn.

Most of the physical ailments were merely age related and easy enough to fix or at least partially alleviate so the verbal agreement was that Calleo could fix “70 days worth” of physical problems.

Grindelwald didn’t trust Calleo to stick to that or not try to find a way around it that still technically wasn’t in violation of the agreement; Calleo found that more than reasonable (as well as correct) and his agreement to the terms and consent to the ritual itself happened in large part because Calleo so very _rarely_ thought anything through.

The ivory-handled dagger moved, and Calleo is offered a bleeding thumb. “This I will give to you, if this you will give to me.” Grindelwald speaks it like it’s part of a ritual, and it is. But some forms of magic are so old they’re barely magic anymore. They just _are._

“ _You_ ,” Calleo snatched the dagger, not trying very hard at all to hide his amusement, “are so oddly dramatic about _everything_.”

“It’s funny," he continued, idly turning the dagger over in his hands a few times. "I’ve seen Muggle kids do this before–minus the magic component, obviously,” he absently remarked.

“I’ll assume I’m meant to do the same,“ Calleo’s swift movement with the blade came more from having read things than it did from doing them in this case; he certainly didn't wait for the answer he knew Grindelwald would have given.

“There you go.” He held his now bleeding hand out, “Do whatever it is you’re going to do next.”

Grindelwald snatched Calleo's hand, now not bothering to be the least bit gentle about it. Wounds are pressed together, _too hard_ ; this came with a warning look from the old man for his cheek before the point of contact begins to smoke. “I am bound. You have me. And _yourself?_ ”

There was a _reason_ Calleo didn’t often deal with magic that required actual ritual, and this was it.

The way everything was worded always struck Calleo as almost cringe inducing prose, and this was no different. So much elaborate oddness for something _completely mundane_ in every sense of the word.

Still, he managed to not respond with his first thought which had just been, “Yeah, all right.”

 _That_ , he thought, might just get him hexed in the face.

Assuming he was meant to mirror what had been said, Calleo somehow was able to get through, “I am bound. You have me,” without collapsing into a fit of laughter over how serious it all sounded.

_All that just to be allowed to repair a few things._


	2. That Might Have Been Nice to Know Four Days Prior...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some minorly fluffy slice of life, in which Grindelwald has seemingly forgotten he did exactly what ends up warning Calleo to never do: Bind yourself to another person via blood magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Grindelwald was written by the amazing absintheabsence.tumblr.com

“I really ought to consider getting up at some point.” Calleo hadn’t been speaking to anyone in particular so much as he was thinking out loud. He’d never been good at laying about and doing _nothing_ , even on days off.

“ _Don’t._ ” So he _WAS_ awake. Honestly, with Grindelwald it was difficult to tell sometimes.

Calleo blinked and, as he hadn’t yet started to move, there wasn’t much of an issue in staying where he was, “Fair enough. It’s rather comfortable now that it’s no longer _actual_ straw.”

“If I’d allowed you, you would have made it goose-feather or _worse_. Anyhow, isn’t this meant to be the ‘ _day of rest_ ’ for you heathens?”

“Feathers poke.” The statement was dry enough, but mitigated by the laugh that followed it, “And I _AM_ resting. Sort of. Still laying down at any rate.”

“You can spend the day in and out of sleep, if you like. I won’t disturb you.” That offer struck Calleo as mildly unsettling, sleeping when he knew the only other person in the room would be awake was just–odd, regardless of who it was.

“Oddly enough, I’m not particularly _tired,_ just–lazy, I guess.” The shrug he offered turned into more of a stretch.

“More than fair; you’ve certainly earned the right.” A curious statement, earning the right to be lazy, of all things!

“I’d say I agree if half my mind wasn’t still needling me to get up and _do_ something.” This time, Calleo was only partially speaking in jest. It was his mind, after all, that rarely let him relax or, at least, relax while doing nothing that could be measured in terms of productivity. Years of bad habits break hard, after all.

“I can tell it quite directly to hush and let you alone.” What Grindelwald said didn’t sound like a threat, it didn’t even have the undercurrent of a threat, yet it still somehow was vaguely just–a tiny bit threatening. Control over his own mind was not something Calleo was ever keen to hand over to someone else.

Access, sure, but _not control_.

“You _can_ ,“ he began slowly, "but I doubt it’ll listen. It’s easy enough for me to ignore, if nothing else.”

“Good. If it grows more persistent I’ll have to do something about it.” It still wasn’t a threat. A threat would be more direct, would it not? Definitely not a threat just–some kind of mild chiding, maybe even teasing. But, not a _threat._

“I’m usually all right with ignoring it–mostly–on weekends.” Maybe he’d stop suggesting taking control of the blasted thing now if that sounded placating and good natured enough, “Still might try to get a little more work done this afternoon, though.”

An exaggerated sigh is heaved, eyes turned up toward the misty heavens above. “I suppose, if you really _must_.”

Calleo blinked owlishly and, for the moment, forgot all about the ‘I’ll make your mind behave if you can’t’. When he finally found his voice again, the question was nearly entirely laughter, “Did…you just _roll your eyes at me_?”

“ _Nonsense_. I did nothing of the kind.” A mock-offended answer, of course.

“I _CAN_ see without my glasses,” which he pointed to, sitting on the desk across the room, “you know. They’re only for reading small print. But, all right, I’ll leave it until tomorrow.”

“Ah- of course you can. I’d forgotten. Hm.” A silver head nestled into Calleo’s chest. “Very good. I’m pleased.”

“You’re a bit like an oversized cat, you know. I figure if I don’t leave it until tomorrow, you’ll just knock my coffee,” which was now probably just going to end up cold, “off the table out of spite.”

“I never _dreamed_ you had such a talent for Legilimency.”

“I can manage if I really give it a go; that one was just pattern recognition though,” the answer was a short laugh, “The rug might protest if you did, however.”

“How I’d _hate_ to lose its esteem.” A dry, vaguely sarcastic reply but that was to be expected.

“It might try to trip you,” Calleo pointed out, “I seem to recall it doesn’t like having coffee spilled on it. That’s what always got it to try and trip me, at any rate.”

“Really the _last_ thing I need.” The previous time Grindelwald had tripped had resulted in mildly fractured bones in a couple of places and that hadn’t been much of a tumble at all.

“Assuming it can hear somehow, if it trips you deliberately, I may just set it on fire.” The rug inched subtly away, scraping a little on the stone floor.

“I said _IF!_ ” Calleo deliberately looked at the moving bit of carpet, “It has to know that if it sneaks away like that it was _probably_ thinking about it.”

“Or you sounded very sure in your threat.” He chuckles low, pressing a kiss or two where he can reach. “ _My brave champion_.”

“It wasn’t a threat, more a statement of fact. If it trips me, I’ll just purposely dump coffee on it out of spite,” he snickered in response, “Yeah, brave enough to tackle a seventy year old _rug!_ ”

“Well, now, I doubt tackling it would do you much good.” It was a chastisement, but a playful one, “That would only serve to place you far closer to the floor than I know you’d want.”

“As though I’d get into a _physical_ fight with a rug. That’s only slightly more absurd than getting into a _magical_ fight with a rug.”

* * *

“You’ve managed to keep me in bed all day and into the night. I do enjoy laying around as we are.” It definitely would have been a lie to say that Calleo’s mind hadn’t frequently wandered back to exactly how much work he _wasn’t_ getting done that needed to be done before Monday morning but it had become clear some hours ago that that was not going to be a thing that happened today.

“I think it’s just wonderful. I can scarcely remember anything like this sort of ease. Well done, spirit; you’ve successfully seduced me into comfort.”

“What an _awful_ thing, being able to relax a bit.” That coffee on the table was definitely stone cold by now.

” _Halte den Mund_. You know _perfectly well_ that it’s more than that.“

“I’m aware. It is nice.” After a moment, an oddly excitable sounding question, “Guess how long it’s been since I’ve not worked for an entire day?”

“Infancy?” Grindelwald didn’t even attempt to hide the sarcasm behind that answer. Not even a little.

“I’m not counting things I wasn’t getting paid for,” he waved the sarcastic answer away, “If I were it’d probably be since I was 11. Otherwise, 23.”

“Seven years, yes? Auspicious.”

"Mm. Just over, yes. The backlog _always_ bothers me. It was worse before I got there and even with mostly competent staff, we’re still only up to 1986!”

“Needless to say I have every confidence in you. If anyone can grapple with the needlessly complex…” he trailed off.

“Two of my three can keep it going when I’m out. The third–would be able to if he spent less time being mad about reporting to someone thirty years younger. He spends probably 80% of his time being mad about that.”

“If you can master a will such as _mine_ , his should be no great feat.”

“I’m pretty sure he wants to _fight_ me, actually; mostly on account of him saying so. And I don’t want to _master_ anything about him, I want him to do the job he was hired to do, which he should be doing without needing to be forced into it.”

Grindelwald laughed at that, shaking his head. “I relish the thought of how very sorry you could make him should the fool get what he asks for.”

“It’s probably for the best that I don’t want to deal with the paperwork hassle.” Now, Calleo fell silent for a few minutes, “Could I ask you something, out of interest?”

“You can ask, yes.”

“I’ve seen you make comments now and again about how you were “beautiful then”. I’m curious as to why you seem to believe it belongs in the past tense.“

The look Calleo received was utterly blank, uncomprehending. “Put your blasted spectacles _back on_ , Bricriu.”

“All right,” he did exactly that, after summoning them back over from the desk across the room, “Not sure what difference it’s meant to make; still think it’s definitely a present tense thing.”

Grindelwald sat up abruptly. “ _Enough flattery_. You scarcely need it now.”

“It isn’t _flattery._ If it were _flattery_ , I’d be trying to convince you that you looked the same, wouldn’t I? Feel free to rifle through my head if you’d like to see for yourself–and lie down again.”

The old man only growled at him. “I can stretch my back, _can’t I?_ ” He doesn’t look. He couldn’t be sure he would know what to do with what he might see.

“Is it bothering you again? Your back, I mean,” Calleo reached out to run his hand over the other’s back, “You do realise that I only said I find you beautiful, right? Not that you look the same as you did fifty or so years ago.”

“My _hearing_ is perfectly fine, thank you,” he said testily, making an abortive move to bat the hand away but not quite following through. “And it aches a little, nothing that needs seeing to. The scarring likes to twist now and again. Readjust.”

“You know what’s funny? A few years back a Muggle showed me some techniques that can loosen or break up the adhesions that cause that to happen. It’s surprisingly not painful, though it does produce some unsettling crackling noises. I could have a go, if you’d like,” that offer was more rhetorical than anything and there was strong indication that he intended to have a go anyway, “And, just to avoid an argument _you’re_ not going to win, there’s not a thing you can say to change my view of you. I love how you look.”

“If it’s the sort of thing that’s meant to reduce the size or the shape of it I’ll do more than produce a few unsettling noises,” Grindelwald still sounded more than a little testy, “You could live here day and night for a hundred years and I could never begin to understand the, the twist in imagination that would bring a mind like yours close to such a thought as that. And I have been mad for some time now; _you’ve seen me raving_.”

“Oh, no, it won’t change the size or shape of anything; it just removes adhesions to the tissue below. That’s usually what causes them to remain a bit painful, especially when moving,” he sat up finally and moved to be, as usual, half curled instead of sitting like a normal person, behind Gellert, “I’d be a bit cross if you did anything that’d change or remove any of mine, after all; wouldn’t dream of doing that to you.”

“I’m not mad and neither are _you_ ,” Calleo placed his thumbs side by side atop one of the scars, pressed fairly firmly, and made a slow back and forth movement, inching along the lines of it, “we both have our moments, certainly, but not mad overall. It’s not imagination either, mine or yours. I can see you well enough and clearly enough, and it doesn’t change my view of any of it. I quite like the view from every angle I’ve seen it.”

“Thing is, for as much as I know you could sit and watch me do nothing at all, I could easily do the same with you,” Calleo’s tone had shifted to absently but still pleasantly conversational as it often did when he was speaking while working on something else.

Gellert hissed and then swore as his companion began the work of pushing through the gnarled knotwork of tissue that was by now almost a century old, the lines etched into him bone-deep. He said nothing as Calleo spoke, and continued to speak. When the old man’s eyes screwed tight, however, the trace of moisture in them had nothing to do with the painful cracking, loud as a whip, between his shoulder blades, or with the nails digging into his palms.

When the response was silence, Calleo shifted a bit to more easily reach around and tap one of Gellert’s hands, “I don’t need to use them both; it works just as well with only one.” He kept his hand resting lightly over the other’s, “There’s pretty clearly a story behind this one. If you’d like to tell me, I’m happy to listen; if you’d prefer not to, I completely understand, and will not pry.”

He seethed a breath, but ran his thumb over Calleo’s still- such beautiful hands, so clever, so vicious, so gentle, so merciless- “I was seventeen. It was the first of its kind ever to be drawn in flesh like this.”

“Does it do anything? Or was it just an indicator mark?” He paused, trying to figure out how to best move the areas where different shapes touched; a movement in one direction or another wouldn’t have been quite right, and he opted for small circles instead, “It’s not in a spot you could have reached on your own. Do you mind if I ask who did it?”

The air shudders even as it’s pulled into his lungs, bright things burning behind his eyes when he shuts them. Triangles and circles and lines. “It was long ago. We were boys, he and I. A great many of my ideas began their life inside him.“

After a pause, “To this day, he has the twin of this mark.”

“I’m not entirely sure why, but none of that surprises me,” Calleo kept kneading at the area, “Does it do anything? Communication wise, specifically—or was it just more of an identifier?”

“When it was fresh… yes, a little. Sympathetic sensations, temperatures. A key to easier Legilimency, possibly. The effects- did not have the time to be tested fully.” Grindelwald paused, “It isn’t just a brand, you know. Look closely. There’s a form of ink there also. Keep on the way you are and surprise may well find you by and by.”

“Oh, I’ve _read_ about things like that before.“ Specifically, he’d heard quite a lot about the brands Voldemort’s Death Eaters all carried but thought it best not to mention that part, "Never really looked into doing anything of the sort though. Does it still—ah—work? Or are you not certain?”

“I would never presume to try. Not now, and not _ever_.” His eyes hard as he turned to catch Calleo’s in their gaze. “I suppose you can guess what two boys drunk on their own power and impossible promises used for their ink, hm?”

“Fair enough, especially not knowing if it’d be welcome or not,” a slightly sympathetic smile, “I could guess, just based on what I already know.”

“I also know this is an uncomfortable topic for you, to put it lightly, and I wouldn’t wish to pry if you’d rather I don’t. I also won’t lie and tell you I’m not curious.”

“I will tell you this. Never convince yourself, as long as you live, that another man’s blood belongs under your skin. No mortal man is worth the _utter wreck_ it has the power to render you. Once ‘always’ has run its course, my dear, even the possibility is an unbearable humiliation.”

“I think you have guessed his name. In my madness I may even have said it before. All I ask of you, Calleo, is that you take this knowledge with you to your grave, such as it will be.”

“I’ll assume whatever it is we’ve done that lets that Astarte react to you now is significantly different.” That was the only very mild indication of 'hey, that would have been a useful thing for you to have said five days ago before you did exactly that and not five days after the fact’. Now would _not_ have been the best time to bring that up. [Some other day, perhaps.](https://vogelchen.com/post/180742012618/nov-dec-1990-things-added-here-and-there-to) “You _have_ said it, and you needn’t worry about it ending up in a gossip column somewhere. Private conversations are private, after all.”

“Oh—though, it’s not going to have caused anything to happen with what I’ve been doing, is it?”

“No. The distance is too far.” He lays his hand atop the other man’s, and falls silent.

“Would you like me to stop for now?” He does at least pause long enough to lean around and give Gellert a kiss on the cheek. “Should you ever wish to talk about any of it just to get it off your chest, I’m always happy to listen.”


	3. A Moment of Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't scare Grindelwald, he'll tear the room apart and nearly hyperventilate. Grindelwald, as before, was written by absintheabsence.tumblr.com

##  **Late September 1990.**

“If you’ve got a few minutes, I have a couple of questions.  
That is, if you don’t mind.” Calleo hadn’t bothered to check and see if Grindelwald was awake or not; it was always about fifty-fifty, even if it _looked_ like he was sleeping.

“Of course.” The old man stirred a bit, just enough to be certain that his sleepy murmur was, in fact, an answer to the waking world. “What about?”

“I don’t–” Calleo paused and absently scratched the side of his head, “There’s not really a way to ask that doesn’t sound strangely awkward, so I apologise in advance for that.”

He moved to sit next to Gellert and stayed quiet for a minute or two, “What is this? What we’ve had going for the last few months, I mean,” Calleo gestured between the two of them, “We’ve never really discussed much of it beyond implications, and I don’t like to assume.”

Grindelwald slowly rose to a sitting position, so slowly indeed that he may well have been a hunter trying not to startle a bird. It was a moment or two before he spoke. “To call it an intimate friendship is not inaccurate. And, yet, it is. I cannot think of the word for it.“

“The high esteem in which I hold you has, I believe, been demonstrated- has it not?”

“It’s been demonstrated, and demonstrated _clearly_ , it’s more that–” The sigh was more of a huff at himself, “I don’t always trust my perceptions on these sorts of things for various reasons. Second guessing is second nature.”

“Is this a– _thing?_ That’s not the right word. It–right, if someone were to ask if we were in a relationship, a proper one, I mean, not just ‘intimate friendship’, would we both have the same answer?”

“Is that what they call them now? ‘Relationships’? Seems a touch vague in my view.” His voice was deceptively light. “I feel I’m _far_ too old to be anybody’s sweetheart.”

“Well, what they call ‘intimate friendship’ friends with benefits now; denotes something casual, though I suppose in general the word relationship is fairly broad as well, isn’t it? I suspect it has different connotations these days than it did several decades ago; when people say it now, the typically mean a romantic sort of relationship. Other sorts are just sectioned off by the type; you know, friendly, business, casual, that sort of thing.”

“Would it help to say,” Calleo continued after a moment, “that I _don’t_ think age is a factor at all? It isn’t for me, at any rate. Whether it helps or not, it is the case. If you didn’t feel that way, would that be how you’d describe this all?”

A heavy groan ground its palms into his eyes. “Sohn einer Hündin, what a perfect mess of words. Like somebody slit open the dictionary to spill its inky guts all across a desk somewhere.”

“Yes. And no. And even further, if I were a younger man I would still be the emperor- and your brilliant self wasted as little better than a love-slave. Bah.”

“Even saying that is hardly fair to the many I consumed back then.”

“Not my best work at putting words together, I’ll admit,” Calleo shook his head but smiles at the imagery of it, if nothing else, “I’m kind of _objectively awful_ at it when it’s anything to do with me–anyway–the thing is, though, you’re not a younger man, you’re not an emperor, and no part of me is or ever has been a slave.”

“You’re not what or who you were when you were–let’s call it, behaving in that manner. If you were, you wouldn’t bring it up now and again as an attempt to dissuade me from something from which I clearly am not willing to be dissuaded, you know.“

“Thing is, I don’t have any hangups about any of it; what you did, your age, what you were, who you were. You wouldn’t be who you are _now_ without having been who you _were_. I probably _should_ , but I don’t. It’s not the idea of you or what you were that I love, and it’s not anything to do with what I can get from you or use to my own benefit, it’s just _you,_ ” he shrugged a bit apologetically.

“That all sounds a bit off, I’m sure, just one of those things that wanders across my mind now and again.”

Grindelwald sighed; his head did not lift from his hands where he’d set it, though his thumbs do shift to align better with his temples. “ _Impossible_. _You are utterly impossible_ , my Calleo. Inexorable and- un- in- the word for it is escaping me, but do you know of the stories told about the Northern gods? The ones kept by your mother’s countrymen of old?”

“If I weren’t impossible, I doubt I’d be capable of even _half_ of what I’m capable of.” Calleo shrugged idly, “I know a few of the stories, why?”

“There was one where the gods were invited to attend a dinner held by the spirit of fire, who sought to make fools of them all,” Grindelwald began. “He challenged Thor the Thunderer to drain a single drinking-horn of mead, he who was famed for his thirst. He grasped the horn in his fist, brought it to the warmth of his sneering lips, and drank. And drank. And drank still. Gulp after gulp with it all spilling over and staining his mouth.”

“Mighty as his gullet was, he could not take all that that horn had to give. Gasping and gaping, he was forced to admit defeat.”

“That does tend to happen if you don’t ask the right things beforehand.” Calleo waited to see if there was more to the story.

“It was filled with the waters of all the oceans of the world.”

“There’s a joke to be made about being salty here, I’m sure,“ Calleo barely bit back a quiet laugh.

“What is it you’re getting at?”

The old man cracked open the seal of his fingers to turn the gaze of a single eye on his companion. “I begin to wonder if you’re like that _horn_.”

“Perhaps,” another shrug, “but we’ve gone a bit off topic—back to it: If you, just for a moment, put aside everything you’ve tried to use to dissuade me from everything I said earlier, what is it you’d want us to be?”

“Well, now, let’s see first what you are. Nursemaid, protégé, companion, friend, research partner, and lover; what more than that could I _ever_ ask for?” Grindelwald still appeared to be half asleep, and it was only the fact that he was speaking coherently gave it away--well, that and the one open eye peering at him from mostly under the blankets, giving an image more of a cat annoyed at having its nap time interrupted.

Barely, just barely, Calleo managed not to roll his eyes at ‘nursemaid’, “That sounds _suspiciously_ like a couple, which is what I didn’t want to assume. Is that—a distinction or label or whatever you’d like to call it that you’d be all right with?”

“As in a pair? I can scarcely see how it would be fair to you to so much as _begin_ to deny it, given everything you’ve been, everything you’ve done- for the love of heaven, _we’ve been cohabitating._ ”

“As a pair, yes,” a mildly sheepish smile, “It’s _easy_ for me to second guess the obvious sometimes, especially when it comes to me and relationships.”

“It’s nice to have not misread; occasional insecurities on my part,” he shifted position enough to face the other, “This has all been—different in a very good way. You’re not—“ Calleo shakes his head, “You just fit so perfectly.”

Two gnarled old hands, softer than they’d been, gentler, close around one of his. They’re warm. “Despite my best efforts, mm? And, darling, I think we both know your mind is a good bit more reliable than mine is.”

“Despite your best efforts, yes, and you’re stuck with me now until one of us dies,” he laid his free hand over Grindelwald’s, “You have been and still are worth everything.”

“Your mind has been pretty reliable lately anyway and, if it’s ever not I’ll always be around to help you get it back where it ought to be.”

Grindelwald huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, bittersweet and quickly lost in the waves of red he presses his face into. “I was afraid of that. Ah well. So be it, then- _I surrender._ “

“I can’t promise I won’t still try to _warn_ you every now and again. Just to be sure you never have a chance of forgetting what it is I am.”

“Seven years, _what the hell_. That isn’t so terrible.”

“I know what you are and still want you anyway,” Calleo reached up with his free hand and absently ran his fingers through silver hair. “Seven years I’ll be content with, but I can’t promise I won’t at least try for a _few_ more.”

“Your surrender is accepted, and I’m happy to call you mine as well as to be yours.”

“I only pray to whatever gods are still listening that you will not come to regret this as much as you should.” The shiver began where he was touched, at his hairline, down to the nape of his neck and all the way along his spine. “You have me.”

“Whatever the eventual outcome, I’ll always look back on all of this fondly.”

“You have me as well; every last part of me.”


	4. 21/11/1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same as before, same as before.

"Gellert, they’re still doing all right, yes? The climate is a little different, but not too far off. It was interesting to set up.” While he could have moved closer to look at the bell jar himself, Calleo had managed to get comfortable standing and leaning back on the couch so, instead, he watched from a short distance.  
  


“They are settling in.” Grindelwald's eyes quietly gleaming. “Their colours are even _brighter_ now than they were before. And don’t worry for our little friend; he can’t budge the bell jar once I’ve put it down.”  
  


“Good, good, I’m notoriously bad with plants and am kind of amazed they grew at all!” He added with a chuckle before just watching Gellert fuss with the little rock-and-lichen garden.  
  
“If you don’t mind, I have a question about something not related to the lichen. Just a thing that finally circled back around in my mind.”

“Mm?” Grindelwald didn't look up; twisting his wand, he formed a tiny cloud underneath the zenith of the jar.

“Are you making weather?” Calleo tilted his head briefly, “Right, though, before I get distracted; a few months back when you did whatever it was you did with the blood–not the flying thing, the one that caused that Astarte to react. What was that, exactly? Because the wording, as I recall was _somewhat_ binding in nature.”  
That was a question he probably should have asked before going through with it but, hindsight…

Grindelwald froze. It took him several seconds to answer. “…yes. Yes, it was.”

Rather than having the sense to be _alarmed_ by that answer, Calleo laughed, “And not two weeks later, _you told me to promise I’d never do anything like that!_ ”  
  
“So, out of _interest_ what sort of binding was it, and don’t you dare give me a deadpan answer of blood; you know I mean the details.”

He didn’t seem the least bit bothered and waited for the answer with not at all concealed curiosity.

“Now- I will be quite earnest with you. The pact we made was _intended_ only to keep each one of us bound to his word- the seventy days, the acts of healing, all of that- and yet…“ Gellert trailed off.

“Its execution… and its _effects_ … have been more deeply penetrating than I had _intended_.”

"That’s the longest way I’ve ever heard anyone say, 'I have no idea’ outside of an academic paper!” Cheerful as ever, in stark contrast to Grindelwald who looked as though he might be a tiny bit panicked. "That, however, makes it a hell of a lot more fun, though! Well, I think it does anyway. Some of the most interesting outcomes come from things not quite going as intended!”

“Oh!” Calleo snapped his fingers. “That does remind me, though! What do you suspect it _ended up_ encompassing, beyond the original intent?”

_Is that a flush on those gaunt cheeks?_

“A _great deal_ more. To say the least- your wand, your wards, even going through the annals of your mind bearing no resistance- even when allowed, there is that tug, you know. But not now. I trust you can surmise as to why.“

Briefly, Grindelwald buried his face in his hands and muttered, “It seems I shall _never_ learn.”

Calleo blinked a bit owlishly, considering the implications of what he’d just been told. "I’m used to things going _catastrophically_ wrong when magic in general doesn’t quite work as intended.”

“This is not that at all. It’s rather exciting, really, even if wasn’t the initial intent. I can’t say _I_ mind even the _slightest bit_. What about you?” A curious head tilt.

The old man hissed as if burned, jerking his face away in irritation. _“You are impossible.”_

“I’m not impossible at _all!_ ” That reply was far too cheerful, especially in contrast to Grindelwald’s reaction. “So you weren’t as specific with it as you maybe should have been,” he shrugged and gave Gellert a gentle nudge, “it’s not as though anything terrible came from it.”

“People can lie through a _lot,_ you know,” his tone shifted slightly to something more subdued, “especially in their relationships with others, intentionally or otherwise. Words and actions are all well and good, but only as reliable as their _source_ and it’s easy to seem reliable while actually being rather the opposite.”

“I’m not nearly as well versed in blood magic as you, but I know enough of it to know you can’t get away with that, even when using semantics. I don’t think I’ve ever not had persistent second guessing of my perceptions or someone else’s motives; _this isn’t a bad thing_.”

“Not through _this_. Nothing can lie or deceive through _this!_ ” He rose abruptly, even fluidly, and with a flick of his fingers the piles upon piles of books and papers and potion ingredients and little bones explode into the air and- hang there, suspended. He began to frantically sift through them, his face a thundercloud.

_“We must find it!”_

“Find _what_ , exactly?” Calleo hadn't moved much, though his smile had given way to confusion.

“The _stone!"_ spoken as though it should have been common knowledge. "There’s _always_ one formed with this sort of thing, damn it all, _where IS it_ -“

“…all right, you’d probably know better than I would. Do you recall one, though?” Idly, almost lazily, Calleo started looking through all of the floating things, “I don’t even know what I’m looking for, to be honest. Is it a literal thing? Or just–any random object? Because nothing in what’s floating here looks remotely like any sort of stone I’m familiar with.”

“Even if it is loose, it’s not as though it would have left the room. Would you like to maybe sit down and catch your breath a bit?” Calleo gestured to the sofa and made a gentle motion to move Gellert toward it, “It’s been loose this long and hasn’t been an issue, a few more minutes isn’t going to hurt anything.”

“If it’s an actual, literal rock though, have you looked in the copper bowl?”

He’s dropped slowly, heavily onto the sofa, thin chest heaving, his face in his hands. “In the- in the _what-?_ ”

“The copper bowl of–honestly, it’s just full of rocks I found interesting,” Calleo plucked it out of the air and brought it over to the sofa with him. “It’s possible I found it laying around somewhere and just put it back in the bowl if we’re talking about a literal rock,” he started picking through the various items, “I don’t know what all was in there to begin with, but if something stands out, go ahead and grab it.”

“Is it supposed to look–a particular way?” Calleo idly gave a piece of fluorite a once over before picking an amethyst pendulum out of the mix and holding it up in front of him.

It was still for a moment, before slowly working itself into a steady, smooth, back and forth swing.

“I had to take this off of its stand a few years back. It got all erratic when it moved, if it even moved at all. Some days, it’d just stop if I got near it but most of the time it had no pattern to it at all to its movement. The stopping was always unsettling,” the pendulum got a critical look, “they’re never supposed to abruptly stop.”

Calleo leaned forward to set it down on the table in front of the sofa, “Nice to see it back to its normal again. Or I am. One of the two.”


	5. 26/11/91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same old, same old.

_  
An unsigned owl delivered the short note: "Dude your mom sounds terrifying and impressive! She must be damn near fearless if she sent a howler to Grindelwald. I have to know now, what did he even DO to make that happen?"_

“She’s been working with experimental magic since she was in school, she’s definitely terrifying if you get on her bad side and is impressive either way." He rolled his shoulders lazily while dictating the reply, “As for what he did, I don’t even recall exactly, but he must have called me something unflattering where she could see it, because she did see it. It was a short one, at least. I knew what it was before it was fully through the window; she folds them a particular way.”

“I called you a son of a bitch." Grindelwald's voice had been subdued, even hoarse, for the last few weeks, with the former being a bit abnormal. "Not the worst thing I’ve said; however, the implications to her were unsavory.”

“It could have definitely been _worse_. She takes offense to the _strangest_ things!” Calleo laughed and shook his head lightly. That definitely wasn’t the most minor thing his mother had sent a Howler over.

“I wouldn’t call that so strange.” Calleo tilted his head at Gellert’s answer. Maybe he didn’t find it strange as he had only met her once.

“Compared to everything else she could reasonably send howlers over, that is pretty minor. I’m not even sure she wouldn’t send a howler over several more recent, non-verbal things.” Cheerful as ever! He was, of course, used to his mother going a bit funny when it came to other people getting close to him, and usually just brushed it off as Mum Being Mum.

Gellert, on the other hand, didn’t seem to find it amusing at all. “…I sincerely hope she _won’t._ ”

“I mean, there isn’t anything she can really _do_ about it. It’s not as though she can break it.” Calleo added with a cheerful laugh.

“Not herself.” An answer that held--nothing at all, flat, quiet, and almost not present at all.

“Yeah,” Calleo shrugged, “so not really a concern even if she does go a bit funny over it.”

“I am sorry,” he said quietly.

“For what? _I’m_ not going to break it either. If you want to close that loophole, a decently worded unbreakable vow can typically put a good seal on things. That–” he fell silent and frowned slightly, “probably came on a _little_ strong, didn’t it?”

“ _I will not ask that of you_." Grindelwald all but hissed while speaking. "I will not even ask you not to break it.”

“What a curious thing that I didn’t ask you to ask me,” Calleo smiled gently, “it was an offer, and a standing one at that. I could work on the wording, you could, or we both could.”

“It wouldn’t even be a particularly complicated one,” he continued,“anything along the lines of agreeing to never consider, threaten, or actually break it under one’s own volition or under pressure, suggestion, order, or threats from any third parties or their representatives up to and including immediate family, friends, or extended family.”

“Or,” this is what happens when you get involved with someone who does business with Goblins. They know contracts and might not shut up about it, “to make it less broad, specific people can be, well specified. Oddly enough the less specific it is the more it locks down.”

“At its simplest and most encompassing–neither party shall conspire, directly or indirectly, or attempt to cause damage or destruction to the stone in question under any circumstance, including altered mental states, or under any circumstances, ordinary or extraordinary, for any reason. ”

“OR!” Calleo laughed lightly, “I could sound less like a Goblin and just go the nobody is allowed to break it.”

“Thinking out loud again, I suppose.“ He shook his head and adopted a more subdued tone, "It’s— I know you’ve got some reasonable anxiety over it all, considering past experience, and I’d like to do whatever can be done to ease that, you know?”

“If it was something I had qualms about doing, I _wouldn’t_ have offered.”

Gellert said nothing. His mind had drifted, likely to topics or things that had nothing to do with the situation he'd created.


	6. 29/11/1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixth verse, same as the first.

_What didn’t you want to do?_

Nosy, nosy owls from someone a bit gossipy. Still, Calleo had long said he was perfectly fine answering unsigned questions as most of what he answered could be considered muddy waters where the law was concerned.

  
"Break someone.” That was it, that was the entire dictated answer before the parchment transfigured itself into an owl and disappeared.

“That is not what it would do.” Calleo hadn’t expected an answer to that at all; Gellert had been–shifting between quiet and oddly frantic the past few days and had been a bit quiet until just now.

“Not _literally_ anyway.” Calleo shrugged. "Not all methods of breaking someone meant physically anyway."

“ _I_ could bear the pain. You would not feel it if you took the necessary precautions.“ Grindeldwald paused for a long moment, “…Calleo. _You did not agree to this_.”

"You’re _not_ doing that.” He stated matter-of-factly, the tone of it leaving no room for argument. "And even if it was only _implicit_ when it was done, I am _explicitly_ agreeing to it now.“

“That’s because you don’t understand the _danger_.” It seemed to Calleo that, when discussing this particular topic, Gellert was more prone to sounding almost exasperated, even if he tried to hide it. "There are two distinct responses to that: I _do,_ and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest and since when has something being incredibly dangerous _ever_ put me off?”

“Yes. That’s altogether the _problem_ here.” Grindelwald all but spat.

“A problem for which one of us, exactly?” He tried, with only minimal success to not sound almost amused; whatever this was was, evidently, deathly serious but, for the life of him, Calleo couldn’t figure out why.

“Myself being a marked man whose days are very much numbered, I would say for you. And" he sighed, “if _you_ refuse to give a damn about putting yourself in harm’s way, someone must. Thus it falls to me.”

"Oh, we’re _all_ marked for death one way or another, Gellert, and I’m not in harm’s way any more than I am any given day at work and you _know_ it. I’ll be fine, and so will you.”

“…It’s the Labradorite.” The answer was quiet, and it took several minutes of silence, but it was there.

“Is it? That’s a _big_ one! Interesting too, with all the inclusions and different colours depending on how the light hits it.”

“That particular piece looks almost as if someone tried to destroy it at one point and it just made it shine.”

“I mean _, look at it!_ ” Calleo picked it up, turning it so the shiny side was down, “the sides have gouges, but even those and the side that doesn’t immediately shine still are brilliant if you let the light hit them!”


	7. 30/11/1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expecting something different here? It's just a continuation.

“Gellert, two things!” No point bothering with owls, even the transfigured ones had a delay and, when Calleo was curious about something he was often curious right now. Hopefully, the other hadn’t been asleep but, if he had, he likely wasn’t any longer.

“First,” He didn’t even wait for an acknowledgement, “I didn’t take the Astarte with me this morning. Do something with it. It feels different. Second, what would you like to do this weekend?”

“…did you feel that.” A statement, not a question. Gellert knew the answer, but it never hurt to verify.

“I did, yeah. _Neat!”_

“This is-“ pauses in thought translated to pauses in conversation, "that was a simple levitation charm. It worked _beautifully_. This is _utterly astounding_.”

"I _thought_ it might do that when it didn’t immediately reappear and stayed where I left it,” Calleo’s reply carried a tone that strongly implied he didn’t think it would do that, he knew it. “I want to try something else. Let it go if it tries to disappear.”

“ _Et voila_.” Gellert did as instructed and the short, curved blackthorn wand blinked out of the room and reappeared in London, in Calleo’s hand.

“Expected.” That reply definitely indicated Calleo knew the wand would still appear when he called it. It was meant to, that was part of how Astarte wands were thought to be 'impossible to disarm’. “I have it now. Take it back.”

A pause, then a cautious, “You mean–?”

“Yeah. Call it back.”

There was a slow exhale, followed by an intake of breath sharp enough to cut glass, followed by a swear.

“Oh, now _that_ is interesting! Hey, since you can use it to some degree now, do something that requires obnoxious levels of precision. That thing’s got a needle fine tip on it.”

“I’ve often noted it. Now, I wonder if you can recognise what I’m casting, Let me see now–Ah, _yes_.”

Calleo paused for a few moments to 'listen’, “I can, and it’s behaving nicely. What I’m curious about now is its power draw. Previously, it just drew from me and was only as powerful as I was at any given moment and would drop off as I got more exhausted, at which point I’d switch to a cored wand.”

Another pause, “Do you suppose it’ll be an even split draw, base it on who’s using it, or just go with whoever happens to have the best power output at any given moment?”

“I believe I know what we’ll be up to this weekend,” A good answer to the second question, that.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea as well; I also want to try a couple of things with that Astarte.”


	8. Letters and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love the fact that this is still being added on to, just--not over here, I plan to put it here when it needs to be updated, however.

##  **[2/12](http://absintheabsence.tumblr.com/post/180738010171/lille-mus-du-er-elsket-velkommen-mum):**

_Lille Mus,  
_

_Du er elsket.  
_

_Velkommen.  
_

_\- Mum_

This small missive is quietly folded up in careful fingers and kept in the very bottom drawer of the single desk in the cell- where all precious things live.

In return, Grindelwald sends the following:

_I am not worthy of so precious a gift. But I will do everything in my power to keep it well while I can._

There is an inky sketch of her son, hair mussed in wild waves that frame his flashing, laughing eyes as he charms a book to flutter across the room like a bird. Every stroke of the pen speaks volumes.

##  [ **15/12:** ](https://calleo-bricriu.tumblr.com/post/181148153038/i-never-mind-a-little-embellishment)

“…copper suits it. Like your hair, you know.”

“It’s a decent enough match and doesn’t clash with any of the other colours.” Calleo’s response came off a bit off-handed. He was still somewhat surprised he’d been able to get anything to stick to the stone at all.

“The only question remains where it shall live.”

“Where would you feel most comfortable having it?” There was still quite a lot he didn’t understand about a lot of Gellert’s reaction to the thing; bits and pieces of the story here and there, but nothing all that detailed and it was a topic he knew better than to press. Half the time he acted like he was convinced someone was going to break in and steal it.

“Would it be too cold of me to suggest it be forty-nine feet into the stone below this place?” A fingertip touched the center of the transfigured mattress.

“ _Interesting_ , but not cold. I do know you have–concerns about it. Valid ones,” Calleo added with a smile. “If you really want to keep it securely hidden, even forty-nine feet under the stone, there’s also hiding that location under a Fidelius Charm.”

It seemed the attempt at light humour missed, as Gellert’s reply was simply, “Is it not _cruel_ to bury something so beautiful?”

“It’s not going to _kill_ it. _My_ concern is more with _you_ not being continually stressed about it, not with where it’s kept.”

“You will not be sorry to lose looking at it?”

“Will _you?_ ” Calleo canted his head slightly.

“…I cannot say. But it is the sensible thing to do.”

“It can always be un-buried if you do.”

Calleo received a kiss as soft as a whisper. It’s followed by the twist of a wand as something is caught hold of. “Will you hear my secret, then?”

“Of course.” That wasn’t often _that_ offer was made, and Calleo was more than willing to listen.

Brushing the hair tenderly back from his ear, Grindelwald leaned in, and breathed words never said aloud to another living soul. As he does, the stone slips gently from his fingers, and falls- and keeps falling. It drifts slowly, as through water, its bright copper chain trailing behind it like a comet’s tail.

“That was a lovely bit of poetry,” the falling stone was spared a passing glance, “and an interesting thing to keep a secret.”

“Less to worry about now, yes?” Calleo smiled just slightly and shifted to plant a kiss on Grindelwald’s forehead.

“Yes; my mother, you see. She burned all of them in the embers of the fire that scourged the lake. This was the only one I was ever able to remember. If she ever knew I did- I have no doubt she’d have found the way to burn that as well.“

“You are inexpressibly good to me, Calleo. Do not think that a moment passes where I am not aware of this.”

“I’ll be certain to remember it word for word, then.”

Calleo paused for a minute, “Not sure I’d call it anything too out of the ordinary, the way I treat you. Most of it is only based off of years of watching my parents interact. I’ve always tried to–not really emulate it, it’s just always been the norm.”

“Whether or not whoever I’m with appreciates it is an _entirely_ different matter, though I’m glad that _you_ do.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What we've got here is mostly fluff.

**Mid January, 1992:**

At some point during the day, likely during one of the times that Gellert was napping and not just _feigning_ sleep while being fully awake and aware of what was going on around him, another little, rolled up note had been tucked into a silver braid.

Nothing out of the ordinary, at least, not for the sorts of things Calleo often tucked into Gellert’s hair now and again. Surprisingly, Calleo was still in the room when Gellert finally woke up, but he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to not be half buried under Merlin knows how many quilts. He did sit up a bit, if nothing else, which caught Siegfreid’s attention and he busied himself keeping the wolpertinger entertained while sneaking a glance at Gellert now and again.

He made a reasonably good show of being focused both on the wolpertinger and on catching up with the evening’s Prophet (sleeping only at night was, of course, for amateurs) and only seemed peripherally aware of what Gellert was doing.

The rolled up parchment itself, as Gellert would soon find out, was neither small nor parchment. When it was free to the point that it wouldn’t entangle itself with him, it finally unrolled itself into a much larger, cloth thing that clearly was meant to be hanging on a wall.

Even at first glance, it was clearly a family tree that did branch _significantly_ more than Calleo’s jokes about it running straight up would have indicated; some names may have been familiar, others not so much.

Nobody had been burnt out, Muggles or Squibs were noted, but only in the sense that they were designated as a Muggle or a Squid–not burnt out or removed however, and those who had died did have the date listed. Despite the tree having more branches than Calleo’s indications would have made it seem it was a bit of an illusion and one could cross reference people all over the place. Some were connected by red lines, occasionally multiple red lines, others by black lines and still a few others by dotted lines instead of solid.  
Not as bad as _some_ families who were largely made up of people who could use magic, at the very least.

There were, of course, people who were from families not _directly_ related that caused it to branch out more, but those were in tighter clusters out at the edges and at random spots throughout. Not a small tapestry at all, but certainly not the largest one as one might find in some of the more well known families.

This one had a particular smell to it, one similar to the first few quilts Beathas over a year ago now, making it likely that this had been hanging in their house for decades.

“Mum sent that,” Calleo stole a quick glance over the top of the Prophet, “after I’d proven to her that I was not going to be–the way I have been the last six or so months anymore.”

The most curious part of it, however, had less to do with branches that didn’t, branches that looped back on themselves, or branches that abruptly stopped going anywhere, it was the branch that went off to the right of Calleo’s spot on the tree. The name there would have been possibly the _most_ familiar of all the names on the tree Gellert was currently stuck looking over.

It was his own.

“Don’t concern yourself with anyone else seeing it; they like visitors even less than I do and that particular bit will automatically obscure itself if anyone else looks at it if it’s something you’d be worried about others seeing.” He idly scritched Siegfried’s ears, “She won’t be cross if you’d rather it _not_ be visible to others, and neither will I, we’ll know it’s there anyway. If you don’t mind, the one back home will look like that one.”

“You’re free to add additional people to it, if you like.”


	10. The Little Things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still just a continuation.

Words, spoken or _un_ spoken can make all the difference in the world.

Early on, when Gellert was almost _frantic_ about touch, Calleo immediately fell into what turned out to be a short-lived response. The frantic had a always been met with calm verbal reassurances that he was genuinely and deeply loved. When Calleo had to leave, he’d always make sure the last thing Gellert would hear before the disapparation was some variant of, “I love you.”

Any conversation during the day ended the same.

When he’d return, Calleo’s greetings included a great deal on how he had missed Gellert while he was away, usually followed by sitting or laying somewhere to talk about their respective days.

Nights continued much the same, with Calleo making certain to end the conversation before sleep by reminding Gellert that he would never have to worry about being abandoned and that he was, of course, loved.

And, because he was Calleo, once he started focusing the majority of his time on both Ministry work _and_ side projects, it was forgotten. _Rarely_ at first, but rarely became _occasionally,_ occasionally turned into often, and _often_ fell into the territory of Calleo simply taking it for granted and as something that didn’t need reinforcement or frequent repetitions. To him—or at least how he _justified_ it to himself—it was a given as _he was still present._ Calleo was never annoyed or irritated when Gellert would ask or do things to get his attention, but it was more than fair to say that he didn’t understand the _need_ , and that often came across as him going through the motions long enough to get Gellert to calm down again.

He’d mentioned it in passing to his parents during one of their almost daily lunch time visits to his office; the silence in the air, confusion tinged from Calleo, nearly incredulous from his father, and something as close to the realm of disappointment that he’d ever seen from his mother. She had moved to speak first, but stopped as her husband gave her the sort of subtle head shake indicating he’d at least decided to give Calleo a few more seconds to possibly come to the correct conclusion.

When that didn’t happen, all Calleo got as a response was, “And do you think I make your mother nearly _beg_ for my time and attention, or that _she_ makes me beg for _hers?_ ”

The answer to that was, _of course,_ no, but Calleo being Calleo started to protest beyond that answer and found himself interrupted by his mother—something he could scarcely recall _ever_ happening.  
The undercurrent in her tone was something he couldn’t _quite_ place. Despite that, whatever it was, it was startling enough that he instinctively knew better than to argue with or interrupt her.

“You cannot, _cannot_ treat this as though it were one of your more _casual_ associations. I don’t doubt that you care about those people _just_ as deeply, and I doubt your father does either, but they have their lives separate from _yours_ and you have yours separate from _theirs_. Those partnerships are _fundamentally different_ at their cores than this one; you need to stop viewing it as if it were not.”

Calleo stayed silent, still not daring to even accidentally interrupt her.

“ _And wipe that look off of your face_. I’m your mother, I know better than anyone when you’ve already begun deciding what you’re being told is incorrect.”

Calleo blinked. He hadn’t even been aware he’d _had_ any particular look on.

“Whether you entered into what you entered into purposely _or_ accidentally doesn’t matter at this point because you _stubbornly_ chose, against _everyone’s_ advice, _including his,_ to _voluntarily[ **remain bound to that pact** ](https://vogelchen.com/post/180742012618/nov-dec-1990-things-added-here-and-there-to)despite clearly not fully understanding what it meant or how deeply it ran._ Why do you think _everyone around you_ tried to get you to take the offer to break it?”

Rhetorical. There was no need to answer.

“It wasn’t because it was _him_ , at least not from our end. You didn’t have any idea what you’d done and agreed to then, and it’s beyond evident that you still think it’s some frivolous curiosity that holds no deeper meaning beyond a few communication tricks and a shiny trinket that’s no different from the shelves full of shiny things that briefly catch your attention.”

“ ** _You bound yourself through Blood Magic to another person!_** Not only _that_ , _you allowed someone else to remain bound to you despite **their** misgivings_,” now she sounded—not exactly angry, more a little cross and a whole _lot_ of exasperated. She stepped forward and cupped Calleo’s face in her hands; it wasn’t enough of a grip that he couldn’t have pulled away, just enough of one to let him know doing that would not be the best of ideas.

“You are my only child, and _I love you above all else_ , but you are acting like a _spoiled brat_ that we did not raise. You will either be an adult and treat this situation you have put yourself in with the time, attention, and priority that it calls for and _deserves_ , or you will cut him loose. There is _not_ a third option.” With that said, she pulled Calleo’s head down a bit to kiss his forehead (leaving a lipstick print of course) and left his office without a further word.

Calleo glanced at his father while wiping away the pinkish-red mark on his forehead. Mum had never spoken to him like that before in his entire life! What he received in return was a half of a shrug and a, “Listen to your mother,” as he left the office as well.

On some level, Calleo half expected Director Yandle to have heard the conversation through the walls and come in to cuff him upside the head as his contribution. Instead, all he did was appear a few minutes later to silently drop a large stack of Divination work that needed filing onto his desk.

When Calleo returned to Nurmengard later in the evening it was quiet and subdued, without the usual possibly remembering so say hello mid-way through launching into an immediate rant about some thing that had happened at work.

He didn’t say anything at all, not verbally at least; he did, however walk over to that awful, rickety old chair on which Gellert _always_ seemed to use, despite it being wobbly and solid wood. Taking a quick note of the page an open book that had, until a moment ago, been being read, Calleo closed it and picked it up. With his free hand, he took one of Gellert’s, pulled him the few steps to the sofa, and down onto it with him.

Once that had been all settled, the book hovered itself at proper reading distance in front of Gellert, re-opening to the correct page. Calleo kept one arm around Gellert and the other he shifted enough to gently run his fingers through silver hair.


	11. December 1991 - January 1992.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are more collections of small drabbles that tie into the larger arc.

It would likely be _months_ , if it ever changed, before waking up at odd, late (or extremely early, depending on one’s point of view) hours stopped being the only consistent part of Calleo’s sleep patterns . Years of habit had done an already barely there routine no good.

And this almost early morning was no different. He did occasionally wonder if Gellert’s waking up at least enough to try and convince him to stay a bit longer or skive off entirely was coincidental—after all, he had worse sleep habits than Calleo but, once you’ve passed 100, that sort of thing is probably allowed—or if it was more of an internal jolt back to consciousness to try and avoid being alone (save for a Wolpertinger) for unpredictable amounts of time, and often the entire day and well into the night.

It had only been a few days since Calleo had promised for the who-knows-how-many-th time that he’d stop working so much and make more time to spenjd with Gellert; some part of him was surprised it wasn’t met with cold disbelief. Though he was glad it hadn’t been received that way, it certainly would have been deserved considering the last few months.

That was, for the moment, a large part of why, if Gellert didn’t wake on his own, Calleo would quietly and gently do exactly that. Eventually, he was certain that he’d simply go back to sleep when his inconsistent internal clock woke him up at strange hours; for the moment, however, it seemed more important to make certain that Gellert knew he wasn’t going to be left alone.

This morning, Calleo lightly traced the other man’s jaw with his thumb. He was struck again—and it always seemed to have that almost awestruck feel to it—at all of the defined, perfect angles that had only aged, but not changed and it always, without fail made him wonder exactly what Gellert saw when he looked into a mirror.

It couldn’t be what Calleo saw, not with the cold looks he’d often seen Gellert give to his own reflection. He’d often spoken about a time when “every inch” of him had been adorned with something shiny, sparkling, shimmering, rare, and valuable; on occasion, he’d even indulge that again. There was no denying that all of it only enhanced an already striking figure.

None of it was necessary; fun, certainly—who didn’t enjoy dressing up a bit now and again?—but not the least bit necessary.

Small touches, Calleo knew by now, were often enough to wake Gellert, even if his eyes remained closed. “That long dead Emperor never came close to shining the way you do now. He wouldn’t have been able to even cast a shadow in your presence, let alone shine brighter or more beautifully.”

* * *

  
Today, Calleo slept almost until proper morning. Close enough to it at any rate.   
When he nudged Grindelwald awake this time, still quietly, the undercurrent in his voice was markedly different. “I’m wearing that new cardigan today; the one you said would blind you. I’m also going to paint my face to match it and there is not a single thing you can do to stop me.”

“And,” Calleo gave the other man’s nose a gentle, playful poke, “I bet you at least begrudgingly admit it all looks good in the end.”

* * *

  
_Monday._

  
Calleo certainly wasn’t thinking he’d entirely skive off from work; the past five days had been primarily to show Gellert that it wasn’t only empty words.   
Nothing the outside world would have found interesting; small talk over meals, gardening, tidying up a bit, and a lot of attention paid to keeping Siegfried amused.

Calleo had decided not to mention that last one to his Mum.

Between that, he’d immediately understood that, when Gellert started grousing about being cold was less about being cold (though he certainly wasn’t exaggerating about his feet) wasn’t a suggestion to light a fire. If he’d wanted that, he’d have simply started one. Calleo had made a couple of jokes about the two pairs of odd slippers—bumblebees and fuzzy lavender—while a already arranging quilts, pillows (particularly the red velvet throw pillows), turning the bed into more of a nest of random and mismatched quilts.

Conversation had been something Calleo missed, not simply because he was still completely enamoured with the sound of Gellert’s voice but because he was brilliant, sharp, and this week—this week had been different. Gellert told several personal stories of his own relating to spell creation. While they spoke, Calleo fell almost automatically back to taking one of Gellert’s, working his fingers around aging joints, dealing with any muscle knots.

“I do need to work at least fifteen hours in the week,” better to start the conversation as they settled in for the night. “I don’t need to leave so early though; how do you feel about me going in eight to noon, coming back here for lunch and to make sure you’re still doing okay?”

“You can always let me know and I’ll make it work. Does that sound like a decent plan, or did you have a different way you’d like this to work got both of us?”

“Seeing you happy after all...” for a change, Calleo very nearly wrapped himself around Gellert, laying his head on Gellert's shoulder. “Things that make you happy make me happy as well.”

* * *

  
Monday night saw Calleo have the foresight to discuss the next day’s plans.

He shifted a little ways onto his side to get an easier look at Gellert. “If there was an errand or two I’d need to do in the early evening, after visiting Fern, would you like me to stay later here in the morning, then return in the evening? Or would you prefer I go in early, come back for a few hours mid-afternoon, get the errands done, and return for the night?”

“Or,” he chuckled, “something completely different?”

Before Gellert could have even begun to answer a thought appeared to need saying immediately. “It’s not—I don’t want to come off like I’m asking you to micromanage me, it’s more that this is a partnership, the romantic sort as well as the family sort and I’d like to be mindful of that so you don’t wind up feeling excluded or that I’m somehow in charge; we’re equals in this and I promise you I’m working on not needing to be the one to plan everything.”

“Your opinions, wants, and needs matter just as much as mine so if you ever feel like I’m steamrolling over yours, please do tell me.” The smile that was initially a smidge sheepish lost that edge, eventually softening into something adoring and patient.

He had, after all, just asked or mentioned a whole lot of things and suspected that Gellert might need a moment to get his thoughts in order.  
  


* * *

Tonight, Calleo sounds significantly more like himself, with much less fretting and fussing over Gellert.

“I’ve been thinking that, next week, I’ve try my regular—albeit shorter—schedule.”

“I know you prefer to have some time with me in the morning with both of us awake so maybe—“ he paused to think for a moment, “alarm wake up at five, lay in bed and work up to waking up properly, and if we get a few mornings where that’s already the case there’s plenty else to do in bed for an hour or so.” Calleo grinned at that not so veiled suggestion. 

“Figure if I leave by 8:45, that’ll get me to the Ministry and into my office by nine and I can stick around until two or three.”

He leaned in to rest his forehead against Gellert’s, “All I need from you, apart from you continuing to be you is a promise that, if you end up having a rough time being alone for any reason, no matter how silly you think it is, that you contact me right away. I can shuffle my time at work without it being inconvenient or a problem.”

Calleo planted a small kiss on the tip of Gellert’s nose, “ You don’t need to worry about me being cross or upset in any way; you come first, and I mean that. You’re not a burden, and I’ll never view you as one. If I’m out and you need or want me to come back, I’ll shuffle anything else around to give you that time.”  
“No arguments either; part of a loving, solid relationship is communicating like this, following through—which I know I’ve not been the best at lately, and I am so, so grateful you didn’t just decide you were done with me—as well as being there when your partner needs company and support. You do a wonderful job of it with me and you deserve to have it reciprocated.”

“Sound good?”  
  


* * *

Thursday morning, it wasn’t the internal alarm that woke Calleo up before four; it was Siegfried. Specifically, Siegfried deciding that part of Calleo’s face was an ideal spot to lie down on. Half awake, he freed an arm to feel around and figure out which part of the wolpertinger was on him. Roundish, possibly horns, ears, right. The front half. Siegfried grumbled some kind of probably annoyed huff and tried to push Calleo’s hand away with paws and horns.

“You’re on my face. Move.” Calleo whispered, as though he expected the animal to know what he’d said. When Siegfried ignored it, as Calleo would have expected if he’d been more awake, he lazily motioned with his hand to simply levitate Siegfried and move him somewhere not on his face, and might have been able to go back to sleep if Siegfried’s response to being moved hadn’t been to climb over him completely.

Even then, sleep might have been an option if not for the wolpertinger deciding that he needed to—not really tattle, that would be absurd—start pawing at Gellert while less than gently head butting the other man in the face.

At least he was being mindful of the horns.

* * *

So far, Calleo had been exactly true to all of his words regarding his work schedules. When something came up, as it inevitably did at either position, he’d been careful to shift his time around in a way that didn’t take excess time away from the not-working aspects of his life.

  
He’d also been certain to let Gellert know and, if what work itself wanted was more than Calleo was willing to take, well—“I’m not available” without going into a longer explanation was proving difficult to master, but he was somehow managing.

  
This morning, no effort was made to get out of bed.

  
“I _could_ blame the weather for wanting to stay in today,” from the sound of it, he hadn’t been laying awake for a couple hours this time, “you wouldn’t believe that though, would you?”

* * *

An owl carrying a small package showed up mid-day. A _real_ owl this time, not the transfigured paper sort Calleo had a tendency to send. Nothing terribly noteworthy about it; just a run of the mill tawny owl who will wait patiently until it’s either given a reply to carry back or is dismissed. The package itself is soft, and looked to be very easy for the owl to carry.

  
The letter it’s carrying reads:

_Feuerspucken,_  
  
 _This is something Calleo has had since he was three._  
 _I told him, when we gave to to him, that it was a guardian or protector of sorts, which is why we both assumed he didn’t take it with him either to school or with him when he moved out._  
 _Whether or not it is isn’t strictly relevant; things have a way of becoming what others believe they are after awhile._  
  
 _The impression I’ve had over the past year—and perhaps I’m incorrect—is that you’d benefit from that sort of thing, especially while alone._  
  
 _Thrasius_  
  
The package contains a well-loved looking floppy, stuffed red dragon. It will sit upright on its own, but has a tendency to fall slightly forward, resting on the slightly weighted ends of its arms.

* * *

The same owl returned several days later carrying a small box with no letter.

Inside, the box interior has been done up to look like a cosy nest. In the middle, a silver, felted mouse is curled up under a small knit blanket that had the following text stitched into it: _“Be kind to yourself,”_.

  
Curiously, it ended in a comma. Perhaps the little mouse was a clue.

* * *

Some nights were worse than others.

  
Gellert, Calleo had discovered a couple of years ago, had an erratic sleeping pattern less due to boredom and more due to vivid and recurring nightmares.

  
He’d been startled at first, when he’d also be jolted from sleep by Gellert sometimes bolting upright in bed when one woke him. Whether is was easy to help him ground himself again or not largely depended on the nightmare’s topic. At some point, he had managed to mostly suppress the more violent sorts of waking (at least if he was sleeping curled up with Calleo) and likely thought Calleo assumed he was awake and possibly out of bed because he’d merely happened to have awakened before him.

  
Calleo could tell when that wasn’t the case, both by watching Gellert’s movements, hearing the mostly masked tremor in his voice, or simply by looking at his overall body language and face—the ones that rattled him the most were always so easily apparent on his face and in his eyes.  
  
Gellert also had a difficult time admitting _what_ had wrenched him from sleep let alone accepting any sort of comfort. That sort of thing was for _people_ , after all. Still, it never did quite stop Calleo from figuring out one or two small ways to pull Gellert back too a more grounded state.  
  
This time had been one of the times Gellert had tried to pass it off as simply having had awakened at an odd time. Calleo stayed up as well, idly scritching the wolpertinger’s ears between little bits of chatter.  
  
“You know, that’s what Dad sent him for,” Calleo waved the old, slightly threadbare, floppy, red, stuffed dragon off of its place on the bookshelf, setting it down on the desk in front of Gellert. The slightly weighted bottom kept it sitting mostly upright, looking up at Gellert with its shiny black button eyes. “I know you probably think it’s a silly thing—Dad explained it to you when he sent it, yeah?”  
  
“You’ve been done writing for some time.” A gentle reminder. “Come back with him and Gerlinde if you’d like both, and if you can’t fall asleep again, it's at least more comfortable than that wooden chair. I’ve finally got that old book of Danish folk tails restored enough so that it’s no longer crumbling. I’ll warn you in advance though: It’s been a very long time since I’ve read or spoken language so it may be slow going.”  
  
He smiled and quickly continued, “ I remember you used to ask me to tell you or read you stories because it helped you to get some brief respite from the noise in your own mind.” It wouldn’t do to have Gellert think that he was being treated like a child, even if it was tempting to sometimes call Mum about it. He had little doubt she’d show up at the first mention of Gellert being upset. Whether or not Gellert would accept it was a different matter entirely, and not something he’d do without asking Gellert first.  
  
Someday he might ask, but not today. Today, he shifted the pile of quilts and a now mildly annoyed wolpertinger to give Gellert both room and a silent invitation to come back to bed.  
  
“Should you want a better excuse, you do look more tense than usual, and three of the four choices would let me work on easing out a lot of that physical tension. We can talk if you want to share what it was about, or we can simply talk about it with no words at all.”

  
“Don’t tell me that you don’t deserve it,” Calleo offered him a warm, soft smile. “We both know it’s not true and that I’d never agree.” 


End file.
